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Peering through a old stone gate,
its face well carved, in prayers attired,
I saw a golden wall of late
before which stood cracked streetlamps retired,
their warming light now long gone
yet they still glow stubbornly on
I spotted some retired antique street lamps in the courtyard of the Edinburgh Museum, juxtaposed with a brightly painted yellow wall behind.
In an aisle of a great stone church
by flickering light of candles perched
under finials and arches tinged with gold,
flags fly for blood shed on fields of old:
They wave with wistful dreams of war
and tell of great esprit de corps
in a house made holy for a prince of peace
whose dreams of love they speak of least
A description of my impressions visiting St. Giles’ Cathedral in Edinburgh. In particular the many military banners struck me.

— The End —